


Calamity Dole

by mangoflavoredsushi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9924500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangoflavoredsushi/pseuds/mangoflavoredsushi
Summary: Pulling one of their own from hell on Earth shouldn't have been the least of their worries. But it was never that easy, not for them. Not for Bellamy. Especially with war drums sounding at their door; a boy fighting demons only he can see, and now - at the worst moment - a brand new sort of feelings the older Blake can't put his finger on. Somehow, they'll survive. But it's the actual living that's the hard part.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For starters, I'm not sure where to timeline this piece. Somewhere around season two and three.

The smell was overpowering. A terrible mixture of dirt and sweat. And blood; way too much blood. There were others that were much worse, but Bellamy refused to identify them. His stomach already turning. Swallowing down bile, he raised his weapon back up and carried on. Through the dark hallway. Past rusted cells; shining flash lights into every single one.

Only twice had they been lucky. Once with a young Grounder girl who didn’t understand a word of English. She was handed over to Indra. The second neither recognized, and he wasn’t coherent enough to answer. And the gaping hole in his stomach made it unfortunately obvious that he wasn’t going to be again. The rest were either rotting bodies or bare bones. Going more into ruin the further Bellamy walked. Adding to the anxiety building in his chest.

Two more cages to inspect. And hope was fading fast. The oldest Blake prayed to every God that owed him a favor. And some that didn’t. The rest he just begged, for some mercy among the many losses. That were wasn’t a pile of bones in a gray sweater. Just like the first prisoner they found, there would be a hungry teenager sitting in the corner. Dark hair dirty and even darker eyes relieved for rescue.

The Gods were never that kind. Not to the 100 children dropped from the sky. Shining light into the last cage convinced Bellamy of that. He found the tattered gray sweater, still wrapped around a scrawny body. Motionless in the dirt of a forgotten prison cell lay Monty Green. Bellamy stood stunned; breath coming out in short, shaky pants. His heart sank to the floor along with his gun.

“Dammit. Dammit!” He cursed, slamming his fist into the dirt. Not caring about the other around him, Bellamy let himself grieve. Gripping the roots of his hair as he stared ahead; trying to process what to do next. Take him home? Give him a proper grave? Tell his emotionally compromised friend that he was alone in the world? Tell Clarke he failed. 

He was trying to find the words in his head when something caught his attention. A small shift in the fabric before him. Bellamy’s chin raised; eyes wide. There was a hint of a prayers under his breath. Please.

And there it was again. Faint, but there. The slight rise and fall of gray cotton. A breath. Monty was breathing. Monty was alive. Bellamy exhaled, reaching a desperate hand out to rest on the boy’s shoulder. There was still some warmth there, he could feel it through Monty’s clothes. Bellamy wanted to cry, but he settled for shouting Abby’s name. 

Bellamy’s attention never strayed from Monty. Even as the others cleared a path for their medic. He watched - completely focused – as the ark Matriarch took charge. Her expression was unreadable as she worked; reaching slender fingers up towards his neck. An attempt to count the steady throb of his pulse. But instead of getting an answer, she hissed and drew back cursing. An action that brought Bellamy’s attention elsewhere. 

Without another word, the older woman moved her hands to grip Monty’s arms. Moving the still body from his side to his back; his limbs flopping accordingly. Now everyone in the room could see what had shook Abby so bad. Half rusted metal enclosed around the boy’s neck; so tight that it bit into his skin. Bellamy could see the bruises outlining – a stark contrast against his pale flesh. He tightened his grip on Monty’s shoulder, as if that would help heal it.

“Abby,” Bellamy’s voice sounded like a plea. But he was sure it was far from it. “We’ve got to get him out of here. He needs..” he couldn’t list all the things Monty needed off the top of his head. “He needs the med lab...and Raven to...” to get that damned collar off his neck. “And..”

Before Bellamy could ramble any more, he was interrupted by a low groan. Abby blocked his view of Monty as she leaned over him, placing her hands on the sides of his face. She muttered nonsense under her breath in an attempt to calm Monty; to bring him slowly back to consciousness. 

It seemed to have the opposite effect. In seconds, dark eyes shot open and Monty had somehow pried himself from both grips. Flinging himself into the nearest corner with his hands cradling his head. Bellamy wasn’t sure what surprised him more; that Monty moved as fast as he did now. Or that he was assumed dead only minutes ago. Those thoughts had to be pushed aside. Now he had to hold his hands up and stay back; figure out a way to ease that wild look in Monty’s eyes.

“Monty. Look at us. Just...look.” Abby became the voice of reason, staying low to the ground. It was like soothing a frightened animal; a terrible comparison considering the state Monty was in. Upright, they could get a decent look at him. Bones visible against bruised skin; deep gashes long neglected on his body. Bellamy took note of the dark marks along his collarbone – the ones that looked eerily like bite marks.

“Monty, please.” His own voice stayed calm and stern. He wanted to be rational, and not startle the obviously traumatized boy. But at the same time, Monty needed help. And he needed it fast. Help he would only get if he let them closer. “Let me..let us help. It’ll be...” 

Bellamy bit his lip. He wanted to say okay, but the doubt in the back of his mind shadowed it. Not with the sight before him. The brilliant Monty Green now a shivering mess after thirty seven days of – this. He risked a glance at the cell’s walls, making a silent promise he would never see them again. After the task at hand was complete, and everyone was back in the walls of Arkadia. 

Bellamy risked a step closer, watching every move Monty made. He could see it on the younger boy’s face – the desperate search for understanding. His logic starved brain trying to make sense of all that was happening. Another step forward and he locked eyes with Monty. Bellamy waited and kept his gaze straight; hesitating a moment before nodding his head. The staring contest went on for an eternity, and then the Gods finally smiled.

Monty’s hands dropped to his sides and he slumped. His face was a mixture of relief, defeat and utter exhaustion. Abby reached him first, whispering things that barely reached Bellamy's ears. After a few nods and shakes (as much as Monty could do in his state) of his head, Abby turned her own and started ordering. “Get the Rover running. We’re going home now.”

Bellamy opened his mouth – but before he could get a word out, Abby had plans for him. “He isn’t walking out of here. So, just be careful.”

He took the hit with a nod of his head, shuffling slowly and reaching out. One hand placed a limp arm around his neck while the other rested under Monty’s knees. The boy weighed nothing, probably less than Octavia. Abby moved Monty’s other arm to rest on his own chest, smiling sadly as he watched his head slump against Bellamy's shoulder. 

Somewhere between pulling him from his hell and loading him into the Rover, Monty had given out again. A small miracle, according to Abby. Bellamy agreed after she went into detail, his jaw clenched the entire time. She planned to keep him subdued; completely unaware as Raven would cut him free of metal and her medical team went to work on those open wounds. Whatever came after, they would deal with as well.

Bellamy wasn’t sure what part he (or any of the others silently riding in the Rover) played in all of that, but he’d be damned if it would be on the sidelines.


End file.
